Chapter 2

After my father died, my mother took over our house.

She was strict, but she loved my sister and me fiercely. When both of us refused Rowan’s claim, she did not force us. She only pushed the bond papers back across the table and said, as gently as she could, “My daughters have minds of their own. I can’t make this choice for them.”

Then, trying to soften the insult, she added, “Perhaps you should look elsewhere.”

That was when Rowan finally lost his temper.

“No.”

He planted his hand on the table and looked from me to Ivy.

“The mate I take will come from this house.”

Then he shoved the papers back toward us and turned for the door. At the threshold, he stopped and said, “You have three days. Decide which one of you it will be. If you don’t, I’ll take the claim to the Council.”

Then he left.

The front door had barely shut before my mother rounded on us.

“If Rowan files this formally, we may lose the right to refuse,” she said. “He’s the Alpha of Silver Ridge Pack, and we are an old bloodline house. The Council will hear his claim first unless another pack steps in or a rival claim is recorded in time. That is why he gave us three days.”

Her face tightened.

“So if either of you truly has someone else in mind, he needs to step forward now.”

I looked at Ivy.

Ivy looked at me.

Of course neither of us had anyone.

For years, we had been too busy tearing each other apart over Rowan to notice any other male. Anyone who had once shown interest was long gone. The names we had thrown out in the parlor were nothing but panic.

My mother saw it at once.

“You lied.”

Neither of us answered.

That was answer enough.

She sat down slowly and looked at us for a long moment before saying, “Then tell me what is happening.”

So we did.

There was no graceful way to say it. Ivy and I told her everything, from my first life in the Alpha house of Silver Ridge Pack to the second life that ended with my sister being dragged home ruined by Rowan’s obsession. My mother listened in silence, both hands wrapped tightly around ours. By the time we finished, tears were running down her face.

When she finally spoke, her voice was rough.

“So who does he want? And why does it have to be one of you?”

I shook my head.

“I lost my life before he could finish.”

She looked at Ivy.

Ivy gave a bitter laugh. “He never told me anything.”

That left us with nothing but a mystery and three days to solve it.

By nightfall, we had a plan.

My mother would spend the next day calling in favors, partly to see whether anyone might place a competing claim, and partly to find out what the Vale family had been saying behind closed doors.

Ivy would go through every woman tied to our family and see whether Rowan had some hidden connection to one of them.

That left me with the worst part.

I knew Rowan best.

If anyone could get close enough to pry the truth out of him, it would be me.

I found him that evening in his study.

Several small bundles of dried herbs were spread across his desk beside a marked moon calendar and a few bottles from the healers’ stores. He was sorting them into neat little piles, as careful as if the work mattered.

When he saw me, he rested one hand over the calendar and smiled.

“Come to change your mind?”

I stepped closer instead of answering.

The herbs stopped me cold.

Moonroot. Evening bark. Silverleaf.

I knew all of them.

They were the things female wolves took to steady the body when their cycle hit hard.

Rowan followed my gaze and said lightly, “Can’t tell? They’re for you.”

I looked at him.

“No, they’re not.”

For the first time, he went still.

I picked up one of the little packets and turned it over in my hand.

“I’ve never taken moonroot,” I said. “Silverleaf makes me sick. And my cycle has never fallen at the end of the month.”

I let the packet drop back onto the desk.

“This isn’t for me, Rowan.”

The silence sharpened between us.

Then he leaned against the table and folded his arms, as calm as ever.

“You’re looking too hard.”

“No,” I said. “For once, I’m not.”

Something unreadable passed over his face.

When he finally spoke, his voice had gone lower.

“Clara,” he said, “do you really want to know who she is?”